Tag: Keyboard music

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Recording

Bach: The Art of Fugue

CD cover Bach Art of Fugue James Johnstone

James Johnstone harpsichord (+ Carole Cerasi)
100:13 (2 CDs in a card triptych)
Metronome METCD 1111 & 1112

This is an amazing performance of The Art of Fugue (BWV1080) by the expert harpsichordist and organist, James Johnstone, with the assistance of Carole Cerasi, who often produces his recordings, and does so here when she is not playing a second harpsichord.

One of Johnstone’s gifts – central to his Bach recordings on the organ – is that of choosing the right instrument for the particular repertoire, and that is true of this performance of the Art of Fugue as well. He plays a 1995 copy by Stephan Geiger after an instrument by Johann Christoph Österlein of 1792. While this may sound anachronistic, it ‘shares significant characteristics with the instruments from Michael Mietke’s workshop, with which Bach was familiar’, he comments. It is certainly crystal clear, and has a mellow, bell-like sound: there are few harpsichords I would be happy to listen to for the unbroken 100 minutes these two CDs employ to record the whole work, but this was ideal for such an intense and concentrated performance. And its companion, lent by Trevor Pinnock, built by John Phillips in 2007 after a 1722 original by Johann Heinrich Gräbner the elder seems an excellent match for tracks 1, 2, 10 & 11 of CD2 which Carole Cerasi plays.

Johnstone has chosen to give us ‘the first integral recording of this posthumous 1751 print’, and it therefore concludes with the choral Wenn wir in höchstein Nöten sein played on the 1737 Treutmann organ in Grauhoff. And in listening to the whole Art of Fugue straight through, I was struck by how coherent it is, even if it might have been re-edited by Johann Sebastian in some details had he lived longer – there are signs that even as the plates were being prepared, he was tinkering with details.

There are, of course, many other performances available. For many years, I have been wedded to Fretwork’s take on a consort of viols, and there is one by Phantasm too; and both Jordi Savall in 2001 and Shunske Sato’s All-of-Bach version from 2001 use a wide variety of scoring. The first recording Johnstone bought as a teenager was by Lionel Rogg on the large organ of St Peter’s Cathedral, Geneva – and still to be found today. But for its clarity, intensity and depth of feeling this version is hard to beat, and I come away from the experience convinced that this is the best way to engage with such a deeply cerebral score, and mildly irritated by the apparent random assortment of instruments scored by Sato. The coherence of the developing depth of the individual variations, when those that are only in two parts suddenly feel as if they are in many more, reflects something that is true of the apparently simple solo sonatas for a single violin, where, around the apparently simple line of a single instrument, you suddenly hear the parts of a complete polyphonic structure. To test this, said his son-in-law, Bach would try out a piece for a solo instrument on a keyboard, adding just enough implied harmonic structure.

Something like this is what you get from this performance. It may seem deceptively minimalist, but Johnstone’s skill in pacing the canons as well as his unrivalled fluency in shaping the material shines through the textures with a clarity and inevitability which does more than justice to this towering work. I know of no better performance.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Hope soars above

CD cover Hope soars above

Truro Cathedral Choir, James Anderson-Besant (Director of Music and Organist), Andrew Wyatt (Assistant Director of Music)
Regent REGCD599
56:38

Just when it seemed that the quatercentenary of Orlando Gibbons’ death would slip by with little discographical attention, two fine recordings featuring his choral music
have been released during November. A review of the disc consisting entirely of Gibbons’ music sung by The Choir of the Chapel Royal, Hampton Court Palace, was reviewed in EMR last month. The recording under review here features his music beside works by three of his most eminent contemporaries.

There are four works by Gibbons himself: a verse anthem, a fantasia for organ, and two evening Services, one a verse setting, the other full; both settings consist of the
usual two canticles, Magnificat and Nunc dimittis, providing six individual pieces. The verse anthem is O thou the central orb, the modern contrafactum of what was originally O all true faithful hearts but furnished with nineteenth-century words to offer a more general application, the original text having expressed thanks for King James I’s recovery from illness. Soloists from all four voices – treble, alto, tenor and bass – are required, as is an accompaniment for the organ. Similarly the expansive Second Service calls upon soloists from all voices with organ accompaniment. The Short (or
First) Service on the other hand is for voices alone and is a more succinct setting than the other. Gibbons’ piece for organ is the famous Fantazia of foure parts.

That was the easy bit. Now the controversy. Also attributed to Gibbons is the anthem for six voices Out of the deep. However, this is now considered to be an early
composition by Byrd. Three pre-Reformation sources provide attributions, of which two are to Byrd and only the third – merely an entry in an index – is to Gibbons.
There is also evidence within the music that the anthem is more likely to be an early work by Byrd. But the attribution to Gibbons has proved adhesive, and this is because the collected edition of Gibbons’ anthems (in Early English Church Music) was published several years before the similar volume of anthems by Byrd (in The Byrd Edition) and so the attribution to Gibbons took hold (three recordings, two predating the earlier recording attributed to Byrd) while the revised attribution to Byrd (two recordings) has taken time to seep through to general usage. Without going into
so much detail, the notes in the accompanying booklet, which are excellent throughout, by Alan Howard, reflect this dubiety surrounding the attribution to Gibbons. Notwithstanding the identity of the probable composer, and the early stage in his career when probably he composed it, the work is comfortable in this elevated company. It is the sort of piece which can be dismissed by some editors and
musicologists, whereas in performance it comes across effectively, and is anecdotally appreciated and enjoyed by singers – consider for instance the extended heartfelt outburst at “and with him is plenteous redemption”.

Incontrovertibly by Byrd is his anthem Sing joyfully, also for six voices, his most recorded sacred work in English, particularly popular in the USA, and as Alan Howard observes, an effective emotional counterweight to Out of the deep. The other (third!) work on this disc by Byrd is his well-known fantasia in C, A fancy for my Lady Nevell.

John Bull is enterprisingly represented not by one of his many fine works for keyboard but rather by his verse anthem Almighty God which by the leading of a star known to contemporaries as “the starre anthem”, a star anthem indeed, and one of only a handful of sacred works by him known to survive.

And to conclude the disc Truro includes two works by the greatest composer born in Wales, Thomas Tomkins. Both are sombre masterpieces: his great A sad pavan for these distracted times and one of the finest of all anthems in English Almighty God the fountain of all wisdom, its beautiful harmonies and melodies seasoned with a sudden profound and penetrating exploitation of dissonance, all followed by an Amen which can truly be described as divine.

Although all these works have received commercial recordings already, such is the quality of the music and, thankfully, of the performances that it is all worth hearing in these fine performances, however familiar one is with some or all of the works. For instance, Byrd’s Sing joyfully boasts no fewer than 35 current recordings on the Presto website, yet one would not want to be without Truro’s rousing yet sensitive rendition, with its resounding yet perfectly balanced final chord. The sleevenotes specify which treble line (14 boys, 13 girls) sings in which piece – both lines are excellent and they join for Out of the deep which has two treble parts, and for Gibbons’ Short Service. The 13 layclerks – five altos (two contraltos, three countertenors), and four each of tenors and basses – do a similarly good job on the lower parts. All three organists play a solo. Organ scholar Jeremy Wan plays Tomkins’ pavan – omitting the repeat of the second strain; assistant organist Andrew Wyatt plays Byrd’s fantasia; and in his first commercial recording as Cathedral organist James Anderson-Besant plays Gibbons’ familiar fantasia, but when it is played as well as this there can be no complaint about its inclusion. This is Anglican
cathedral music at its best, a credit to James’s predecessors, Andrew Nethsingha and Christopher Gray, in nurturing the tradition at Truro, and to the current choir and organists in sustaining it.

Richard Turbet

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Recording

Johann Ludwig Krebs: Keyboard Works volume 6

CD cover Krebs Devine volume 6

Steven Devine harpsichord
70:52
resonus RES10376

Steven Devine completes his complete recording of Krebs’ keyboard works with volume 6 which contains the Sechs Praeambulis from the early Vier Pieces, Part 1 of 1740, Suite 5 of the Six Suites (Clavier-Übung, Part IV, 1746: Krebs WV-811) and the Suite in A minor ‘nach dem heutigen Gusto’ (Vier Pieces, Part 2 of 1741: Krebs-WV 819).

Devine’s instrument for this final CD remains his favourite double-manual harpsichord by Colin Booth (2000) after a single manual by Johann Christof Fleischer (Hamburg 1710) at a=415Hz which he tunes to a Modified Young II temperament. The singing quality of this instrument is perfectly suited to this music which in the early 1740s when Krebs was approaching his 30th birthday sounds completely ‘modern’. For example, track 2, Praeludium 2 – Andante ‘A giusto Italiano’ – with its snap rhythms shows Devine’s perfect control and elegant sense of timing. In tracks 4 & 5 he uses the harpsichord’s second manual to give point to Krebs’ echo effects. Krebs spans the shift from the essentially florid style of the toccatas and contrapuntal writing of the late 17th century, of which the prelude and fugue in the A minor Suite (tracks 13 & 14) are an example, to the gallant and appealing 18th century tunefulness of the 5th Suite (tracks 7-12).

Where did this all come from? Krebs – reputedly Bach’s favourite pupil – had left the Bach household in 1737 when he was 24, after 11 years from 1726-35 as a pupil in the Thomasschule, followed by two in the university. He played the harpsichord in Bach’s Collegium while a university student, and was a copyist of a number of Bach’s Cantatas. Was his failure to secure Bach’s post in Leipzig due to him being considered too modern – or too vieux jeu?

As in the previous discs, Devine’s playing is not only incredibly poised and stylish but entirely adjusted to these mercurial compositions which shed such light on the hinge between the old world and the new. He is that most blessèd interpreter who does not let his ego turn the works he plays into the vehicle of some kind of personality cult as so many of the versions chosen by the presenters on Radio 3 seem to think is what is necessary to bring dusty old music to life. This complete edition is not devoid of colourful characterisation, but Devine’s playing is always at the service of the music, not of himself.

For me, Devine’s Krebs stands as a model of how to do it – letting a composer speak for himself – with elegant and sympathetic performances that do not depend on the intrusion of the player’s personality. This will be the best edition of Krebs’ music that you could wish for – even if it fails the BBC ‘Breakfast’ test.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Beethoven: Complete Violin Sonatas

CD cover Beethoven Violin Sonatas Sato Chai

Shunske Sato violin, Shuann Chai fortepiano
236:02 (3 CDs)
Cobra 0094

If the ten sonatas Beethoven composed for piano and violin over a period of a little over a decade hardly have the significance of his string quartets, that is at least in part due to the genre itself. Traditionally, the violin sonata was fundamentally piano repertoire for ladies – let’s not forget they were invariably written for ‘piano and violin’, not the other way round. She would most likely play them with a male partner, perhaps the lady’s teacher. The ‘violin sonata’ thus remained largely the province of the amateur. Until Beethoven, that is. Already in the first group, the three sonatas of op 12, published in 1799 with a dedication to the composer’s teacher Antonio Salieri, there was sufficient difference for critical comment to note that they are ‘strange sonatas, overloaded with difficulties’. The following sonatas, in A minor, op 23 and F, op 24 (‘Spring’), dating from 1800/1801 were both dedicated to the wealthy young nobleman and arts patron Count Moritz von Fries, the latter of course having taken its place as one of Beethoven’s best-loved violin sonatas.

In retrospect, we can see this period as one in which Beethoven devoted particular energy to the composition of the violin sonata, all with one exception, op 96 in G of 1812, dating from a short period during 1802 and 1803. They include the three sonatas of op 30, the odd story of whose dedication to Tsar Alexander I – Beethoven never had any personal connection with him – is related in the excellent booklet note. Then there is of course the Sonata in A, op 47, generally known as ‘Kreutzer’ after its eventual dedicatee, the French violinist Rodolphe Kreutzer, the work also having a background story that does little credit to Beethoven. There are therefore no ‘late’ violin sonatas, but equally no place for pleasing music designed for young ladies, rather music designed to solicit patronage or, in the case of those of op 30, a declared intent to ‘strike out on a new path’.

The present integral set of performances is important because, like the cycle of the string quartets recently recorded by the Narratio Quartet, they reflect the new wave of interest in finding ways of conveying means of expressivity by employing technical devices known to have been in use in Beethoven’s day. These include particularly rubato and portamento, the first of which can if used with musical intelligence create an agreeable impression of improvisation, while the second, the ‘sliding’ from one note to another, is capable if employed with sensitivity of enhancing expression, though carrying with it the risk of sounding vulgar. Both can be heard used extensively though not thoughtlessly by the Japanese husband-and-wife team Shunska Sato and Shuann Chai, the latter playing on two Viennese fortepianos by Michael Rosenberger, one dating from 1800, used for all the sonatas with the exception op 96, for which Chai turns to an instrument built twenty years later. The earlier instrument is a delight, with a timbre ranging from full and powerful to the captivating sweet mellowness heard in the opening movement of the ‘Spring’ Sonata, a movement that also admirably captures the fluency of Chai’s playing. Sato’s tone is in general fine too, though just occasionally it can sound a little sour, at least as recorded, particularly in portamentos, which are broadly used with discretion, though there are inevitably times when the listener may feel they are being over- (or under-) used. An example of overuse for me would be the second, Adagio expressive movement of Sonata 10 in G, where the warm middle range of the fortepiano envelops the music in a rhapsodic dream perhaps slightly disturbed by an excess of portamenti. Elsewhere, one of the great charms of the performances is the light and often witty approach. I’ll choose as an example the first of the variations of the Kreutzer Sonata’s second movement. Here, the delicate butterfly flutterings of the fortepiano are exquisitely complemented by the violin’s delicate little interactions to form an enchanting Japanese tapestry.

It would be possible but probably tedious to continue enumerating many small points, but I do hope readers with a sense of enquiry will explore these vital and probing performances. They seem to me a part of a definite, but as yet largely unrecognised, and wider movement to re-examine the whole question of rhetorical expression and the release of emotion in music of the 18th and early 19th centuries.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Bach: Les 18 chorals de Leipzig & Variations Canoniques

CD cover Bach Les 18 chorals Martin Gester

Martin Gester organ
109:18 (2 CDs in a card triptych)
Paraty 2025005

This admirable recording was made in October 2024 on an organ built in 2023 within a surviving 18th-century case at St Loup in Namur. The aim was to recreate within the existing rather French-style case an instrument that reflected rather the sound of more central Germany in the mid-18th century. So, unlike the recordings on surviving instruments from the late 17th and early 18th centuries in the north German style made in the 1950s and 60s by organists like Helmut Walcha which have so coloured the way in which Bach’s organ music has been received, here is a recording of two of the great summary collections of Bach’s later years played on the kind of instrument with which Bach would have been more familiar rather than the more severely north German/Dutch instruments by Schnitger with which composers like Buxtehude would have played.

The organ chosen for this recording is by Dominique Thomas, the builders of the substantial 2008 organ in the Temple du Bouclier in Strasbourg, with which Martin Gester is clearly familiar, and there is a wealth of information on the Namur organ – though alas no detailed registration scheme piece by piece. The organ is pitched at Chörton (A465), and tuned in a modified Neidhardt 1724 temperament.

Accompanying Gester’s rhythmically fluid playing, perhaps appreciated best in Allein Gott in der Hoh sei Herr BWV 663 with the cantus firmus in the Soprano (2.1), is a great variety of registration. Ornamented chorales in the right hand are often played on a Sesquialtera or Cornet, sometimes on a reed, and occasionally on an 8’ Principal, as in BWV 959. In An Wasserflüssen Babylon (BWV 653) the Chorale is played in the style of a Chromhorne en Taille. There is liberal use of a tremulant, even with an 8’ Principal, as in the first verse of O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig (BWV 656); I was unprepared for the second verse to be played on the Vox Humana complete with tremulant! This substantial prelude, lasting over 8 minutes, is one of Bach’s most astonishing compositions. When the chorale is given to the Pedal, reeds at several pitches are employed and a pedal bass at 8’pitch – there are no less than four 8’ flue ranks on the pedal organ – is used effectively in a number of the trio movements, like BWV 664, the trio on Allein Gott in der Hoh sei Ehr (2.3), as well as in BWV 663. For Gester’s notes, you need to consult his detailed blog, which will lead you to his reflections on the desert island quality of this miscellaneous collection (so unlike other collections like the well-planned but incomplete Orgelbüchlein) as well as the full texts of the chorales on which the preludes are based, which is highly illuminating for his interpretations.

For the larger Organo Pleno registrations, the instrument provides a variety of options, and Gester does not hesitate to use manual 16’ ranks. In the trio on Nun Komm’, der Heiden Heiland (BWV 661), the ornamented chorale is accompanied by a bicinium of bass parts in close imitation not unlike some of the duets in cantatas for a bass voice and basso continuo, and here the manual left hand betrays traces of a cantata adaptation with its viola da gamba-like chords at cadences that link it stylistically to the Schübler Chorales.

The obvious comparison to this performance is that by James Johnstone, who played “The Eighteen” with the canonic variations on Von Himmel hoch (BWV 769) on the Treutmann Organ of 1737 in Grauhof, which I reviewed in April 2021. I find Gester’s performance to be as well-judged as Johnstone’s, and I learned much from it – not least how important the chorale settings are in the cantatas and how closely interrelated are the cantatas and the organ works. You will not be disappointed if you choose this version, and the two are complementary in many ways, even if I slightly prefer Johnstone’s on the Treutmann organ, where the accompanying downloadable notes provide detailed registrations for every number.*

Many of the pieces on these two CDs are regularly ignored by players and recitalists. But this wonderful music represents Bach’s compositional maturity as he selected and edited a number of pieces to which he clearly wished to give a continuing life, rather as he did by parodying some favourite cantata numbers for the four ‘Lutheran Masses’. We ignore these preludes at our peril if we wish to understand the corpus of organ music as a key part of the whole project to furnish a ‘well-ordered church music’.

David Stancliffe

* Martin Gester kindly sent a link to the French section of his website where the registrations ARE listed. Please click HERE.

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Concert-Live performance

Sense and Musicality

Sense and Musicality

Jane Austen’s connections with music have been long acknowledged. They are by no means without controversy and apparent contradiction, Austen’s own undoubted life-long interest in music is to a certain extent counterbalanced by her own observations such as implying that while music might be a good thing on its own terms, sitting listening to a concert might perhaps not be. Otherwise Jane’s large collection of music books, many transcriptions written in her own hand, offer an argument that might serve to arrive at a different conclusion.

Such matters were among those explored in a programme mounted to celebrate the 250th anniversary of Austen’s birth in 2025. It is being presented in various venues by The Little Song Party – soprano Penelope Appleyard and the pianist Jonathan Delbridge, who accompanies her on a Broadwood square piano dating from 1814 and which is thus an instrument that Jane Austen could have known. I suppose the correct name for their well-researched programme would be ‘lecture-recital’, but that hardly does justice to the delightfully relaxed ambiance the performers achieved in presenting it as a part of the Newbury Spring Festival at Shaw House in Newbury. The venue in itself made for a highly appropriate setting, being an Elizabethan house built in 1581, but substantially altered during the 18th century by the then owner James Brydges, 1st Duke of Chandos (he of Handelian fame) and subsequently several James Andrews, the last of whom takes us up to Austen’s day.

The programme juxtaposed introductions and readings with a judicious choice of music that ranged from popular ballads through folk songs and operatic ‘hits’ of the day to themes associated with contemporary films of Austen’s works and in one instance a new work especially commissioned for the concert series. This was ‘Ode to Pity’ by Donna Mckevitt, a rare example of the poetry of the novelist being set to music.* Written when she was in her teens, the song captures well the wry sense of humour that would become a hallmark of Austen’s writing. It was well projected by Appleyard, who not only delivered her spoken words with winning natural charm, but whose clear, fresh-sounding soprano is ideal for this type of repertoire. This is not the kind of programme that requires a detailed critique, but it is worth noting that where needed Appleyard added appropriate ornamentation (I thought the principal theme of Gluck’s ‘Che faro’ might have been afforded a little more decoration on its repetition). Delbridge supported the singer throughout with playing of character and sensitivity, providing several solos on his own account. One of the greatest successes of the afternoon was the ‘Storm Rondo’ by Daniel Steibelt, the piece believed by one commentator to be the agitated music played by Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility to cover up her sister Elinor’s secret conversation with Lucy Steele. Delbridge’s fine playing was ideally complemented by Appleyard’s muttered reading of both parts, the dramatization deservedly bringing the house down.

The programme will be given several more times, perhaps most notably at the Jane Austen Festival in Bath in September . If you happen to be in the vicinity don’t miss this enchanting event.

Brian Robins

* You can enjoy a performance HERE.

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Recording

If the fates allow

CD cover If the fates allow Helen Charlston

Helen Charlston mS, Sounds Baroque
58:46
BIS-2734

If the title of this outstanding CD gives little away, its appendage is rather more forthcoming – ‘Music by Purcell and his contemporaries’. Even so and although there are several staples from the Purcell recital repertoire (‘O Solitude’, ‘I attempt from love’s sickness’), there are some rather more unexpected inclusions; ‘If music be the food of love’ is included in two of the three settings made by Purcell, but neither is the well-known one (Z. 379b).

Also unusual is the absence of programme notes, foregone in favour of a fascinating conversation between Helen Charlston and Emma Kirkby, in which they express their feelings about Purcell’s songs and what it means to sing them. Naturally, there is much accord, but what is interesting when it comes to performances is just how contrasted the approach is. One need only listen to a little of Emma Kirkby’s wonderful 1983 recital of the songs after this CD to recognise that the objectives of the singers are quite different. Dame Emma’s performances are all about vocal purity, clarity of diction and a near-perfect musical technique, with cleanly articulated ornaments and shaping of phrases. Charlston comes from a new generation, the best of whom – certainly including singers like her and Lucile Richardot – is starting to recognise that there is potentially more to this repertoire than simply singing it perfectly. Take Charlston’s singing of ‘Morpheus thou gentle god’ by Daniel Purcell, Henry’s younger brother. In this at-times fiery text about jealousy by Abel Boyer – the penultimate passage starts ‘I rage, I burn, my soul on fire, Tortured with wild despair and fierce desire’ – the demands on the singer are in stark contrast to the long cantabile of the earlier part, dramatically intense and full of rhetorical gesture. Charlston rises to these demands superbly, bringing the song to a terrifying peroration on the final word ‘destroy’.

This is, of course, an extreme example that takes us into a world of Italianate fervour and intensity, but this attention to the rhetorical detail of all the songs here is one of the striking details of the recital. One is given the impression that Charlston has thought deeply and carefully about every word she sings and never forgetting, or letting us forget, that in Purcell’s day this repertoire was often sung by actor-singers. Rarely, for example, in my experience has the Virgin’s fear in ‘Tell me, some pitying angel’ been so graphically expressed, each ‘Why?’, each ‘How?’ given a marginally different inflection, while the lack of a ‘vision from above’ at the ‘wondrous birth’ brings near panic in the repeated calls of ‘Gabriel, Gabriel’. The result is a compelling mini-drama. In ‘Music for a While’ Dryden’s snakes drop from Alecto’s head with languid perfection. And there are so many more examples to explore. I urge you to discover them for yourself.

Throughout the recital Charlston is supremely well supported by Sounds Baroque (Jonathan Manson, bass viol, William Carter, Baroque guitar and theorbo, and Julian Perkins, harpsichord and chamber organ); on their own account they contribute a set of Divisions by Christopher Simpson and John Blow’s Morlake Ground, the latter played by Perkins on a richly sonorous copy of a two-manual Ruckers Hemsch instrument by Ian Tucker.

At a time when I frequently have cause to compare the state of early music in the UK unfavourably with what is happening in several European countries, France in particular, this is pure manna from heaven. Here are British artists performing English music to as near perfection as one has any right to expect.

Brian Robins

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Recording

From Byrd

CD cover From Byrd Trio Musica Humana

Trio Musica Humana, Elisabeth Geiger muselaar
42:59
Seulétoile SE12

This is an intriguing and quirky recording, built around Byrd’s Mass for Three Voices. The French Trio Musica Humana (CT T Bar) sing Byrd’s smallest mass superbly, with immaculate blend and intense engagement. They omit the Credo, and intersperse the remaining movements with other works for three voices by Byrd himself, Weelkes and Morley, and with works for keyboard by Byrd, Tomkins, Farnaby and Johnson. Some movements of Byrd’s Mass are performed with muselaar. It is easy to disagree with this approach, but contemporary accounts mention the participation of unspecified instruments in illegal performances of Catholic masses in Protestant Elizabethan England by recusants, so it is not out of order to experiment with instruments of that time. By current standards, this is a brief album, but is worth possessing by Byrd’s enthusiasts for the performances of the two sacred works by the composer which are included in addition to the Mass. Both are the only alternatives to previous recordings in omnibus projects. The longer of the two is Memento salutis auctor, from the Gradualia of 1605, following The Cardinall’s Musick (TCM) on disc 12 of their Byrd Edition. The other is the penitential psalm From depth of sin previously recorded only by Alamire on their complete version of the Songs of sundrie natures, which collection was originally published in 1589. The former interpretation is slower than TCM but every bit as fine. However, the USP of the current disc is the latter: Alamire sing From depth of sin divinely, and again Trio Musica Humana’s performance is slower than its predecessor, but at least for this reviewer their combination of tempo, blend, balance and perception achieves a perfection seldom conveyed on such recordings, elevating its two and a half minutes to the ranks of the very finest renditions of Byrd’s music on disc.

Richard Turbet

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Recording

Froberger: Suites for Harpsichord (vol. 3)

CD cover Froberger Gilbert Rowland vol. 3

Gilbert Rowland
120: 17 (2 CDs)
Athene ath 23213

This collection of twelve suites for harpsichord represents around a third of the suites he wrote, which in turn are a small part of his oeuvre for keyboard. In a comprehensive programme note, the harpsichordist Gilbert Rowland makes a strong case for Froberger as ‘one of the most important and highly original composers of the seventeenth century’. Listening to this concluding third volume in a complete account of the composer’s suites, I am inclined to agree with him. Born in Stuttgart to a musical family, Froberger soon found his way to Vienna where he was court organist to Ferdinand III, who paid for him to imbibe the very latest keyboard trends from Frescobaldi in Rome. Later in life, he was drawn to the glittering Paris of Louis XIV and the company of Duchess Sybilla of Württemberg, a talented pupil and evidently a close friend in whose company he eventually died. It is easy to hear the influence of Frescobaldi in this music but there is a solid Germanic core to it which recalls the music of much later keyboard composers such as Handel. It would be fascinating to hear the choral music by Froberger which has recently re-surfaced, which may have been written for the Viennese Hofkapelle, but clearly the keyboard lay at the heart of his profession and also his surviving work. Rowland plays an impressive 2-manual French-style harpsichord by Andrew Wooderson after a 1750 original by Goermans of Paris, maybe an instrument with a slightly fuller sound than Froberger would have been familiar with almost a century earlier. It does sound magnificent though, and Rowland makes intelligent use of its available timbres, playing with complete technical assurance and innate musicality – and more than that: His intimate understanding of Froberger’s idiom gives his playing an authority which makes his bold claims utterly convincing.

D. James Ross

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Recording

W A Mozart: Fantasy

CD cover Mozart Fantasy Florent Albrecht

Florent Albrecht
78:24
Trihort 585

Playing a Baumbach pianoforte of 1780, Florent Albrecht presents a programme of Mozart’s four fantasies for solo piano, bringing under the same umbrella three preludes, as well as a further “Mozart Fantasy” reconstructed by himself. There is an interesting record from 1785 of Mozart playing fantasies for his fellow Masons, and it is highly plausible that this exploratory and improvisatory music would have appealed particularly to this inner circle of deep-thinking connoisseurs. Albrecht’s accounts emphasise the spontaneous nature of this music, managing to make it sound as if he is discovering its secrets alongside his audience. He makes imaginative use of the different textures available on his chosen instrument, a remarkable survivor from a bygone age – it was the property of the Abbé of Vermont, tutor and confessor to Marie-Antoinette, and unlike these two people who are very likely to have played it, it survived the French Revolution to be restored to its original state in 2013 by Olivier Fadini. It produces a remarkably rich array of timbres, which Albrecht exploits to the full in these flamboyant accounts of some of Mozart’s most imaginative piano music. With many composers from the Baroque era onwards, we are painfully aware of the wealth of improvised music, which took many composers to the very limits of their creative talents, but which by definition often existed only in the moment. Fantasies such as these are treasures, preserved by random chance, and the main strength of these recordings is the way in which Albrecht expressively unfolds each piece, much as Mozart may have done in the rarefied setting of his Masonic Lodge.

D. James Ross